Bleachness

In grade school, the process seems natural--write a little story, draw a little picture. Later this is split into art classes and English. and then you go to art openings (wine and cheese) and poetry readings (skimpy on the cheese) . Your brain has officially divided into right and left with no meaningful crossover. Of course, there are the ones who buck the system and draw jokey pictures in the back of their notebook and these guys go into the competitive world of comic-booking. Unless you're unfortunate enough to end up with a teacher who assigns Derrida and that wacky postmodern hybridization of forms and genres, you don't think about the difference between image and text until you encounter a person who says "I prefer the anime version. I need to see it."




In other news, I fail at kink. Over at the bleach kink meme thingie that's entertaining everyone so much, I attempted a few prompts and they ended up becoming unfinished stories (see, I want to establish a little character first so you know it's your favorite cartoon man doing the nasty when he does and not just any ole person in a porn fic). First I broke the rules by posting non-anonymously (that was on purpose--I've got this hang-up about not being ashamed of myself) then I read that "too tame" posts would be deleted. I looked at what I'd written and went I'm so fucking vanilla.

With smutty goddess laurabryannan this morning, though, I had a revelation: It's the writing that gets me off, not the porn. I'm sitting here writing something that I would never find sexy in a million years and if it's going well, I'm smiling and squirming in my seat.

I'm a graphasexual!

Expect some bad porn soon. The IshiHime is finished too. They all suck so I won't post until I've read them each a hundred times.